John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, His soul goes marching on.

Icebergs behoove the soul (Both being self-made from elements least visible) to see themselves: fleshed, fair, erected, indivisible.

Everywhere the human soul stands between a hemisphere of light and another of darkness; on the confines of two everlasting hostile empires, Necessity and Freewill.

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,/ Some pious drops the closing eye requires; / E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, / E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

To the soul, memory is more important than planning, art more compelling than reason, and love more fulfilling than understanding.

The harp that once through Tara's halls / The soul of music shed, / Now hangs as mute as Tara's walls / As if that soul were fled.